


Save Juliet

by Herbifors



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Recreational Drug Use, Secondary couples to come, Suicide Attempt, more tags will be added, rape warnings are Noora's story line which will be referenced, suicide warnings are for Even, the boys are pot heads y'all
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 04:10:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11051046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Herbifors/pseuds/Herbifors
Summary: An ongoing series about Even Bech Næsheim and how he saves himself, how he saves others, and how they save him right back.





	1. Asunder

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic ever. The first chapter is really heavy, it was also really important for me, personally, to write. I really wasn't going to post it because of how heavy it is, and how graphic. But I think I needed to, for me. I'm a bit worried about hate or abuse I'm going to get, but hopefully it'll be okay. English is not my first language so grammar and things may not be the best, though in the first chapter I was will fully abusive of grammar to try and get the emotions?? I guess. I don't think it worked. But. I'm rambling now, so, I hope you enjoy or grt something from this anyway.
> 
> The rest of the story will not be so dark, or graphic in anyway like the first chapter. Things will only be vaguely referenced in the rest.

_"And the heaven and earth were as one unit, before we clove them asunder." (21:30) Quran._

 

* * *

 

Even couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. He was crying, he thought. He couldn't tell anymore. The words out of focus, blurred before him, wet now. As if that would wash them away. It couldn't be true, a relic of an old time or something. But if it gave them such solace, such peace, then how could it be wrong. It gave him solace too, sometimes, when he was alone, he'd do what he had seen them doing. Sometimes. It filled him with a warmth in his chest. That warmth had turned heavy, iron, metallic.

"If you find anyone doing as Lot's people did, kill the one who does it, and the one to whom it is done."

It took him a while to translate, but he'd been practising for awhile. For them. His friends, he didn't want them to feel alienated or anything like some people at school had been, he tried-

A sob choked out of his throat. How could it be wrong, when it gave such peace, when so many believed it. He was the odd one out, he was wrong. He knew that now, he did. He had to show them, he had to tell them. May be they'd forgive him then, may be Mikael would pray for him and Yousef would put his arm around his shoulders again, may be they'd love him again.

Facebook is up, blue highlighting his face, shining on the tears pouring down his cheeks, dripping idly off his jaw. He's typing. A fingernail is bleeding from where he'd bitten down too far, blood smearing across the keyboard.

He would show them, that he knew, that he understood. They'd understand, they'd help him. Fix him. He must be broken, he liked girls, he did, he liked Sonja, so this must be temporary, he must be sick, they'd help him, they were his friends.

Instagram is up, he's on in knees, crouching over the heavy book, picture after picture. Blood wells at his temples, he's picked the skin too much, it's rolls down, only slightly, not completely, he wipes it away, it smudges across the screen of his phone.

Elias would pray for him, even though he didn't like praying so much, may be he would ask Sana too as well, she was lovely, and always smiled at him, Elias always said she was so faithful, his mother would help too, he was sure, she was so nice, she let him stay the night sometimes, even though he ended awake, on the couch, for hours,

His phone was buzzing wildly, notification after notification, what the fuck is this Even, what are you doing?, why are you posting this shit are you fucking crazy, that's not right, that's not what they were supposed to say, they were supposed to help, and his hands are shaking.

Even can't breath.

May be he can't be fixed, that's why their angry, they want him to leave, to go way, to keep his sickness to himself, why did this happen to him, he liked Sonja, what did he do wrong.

He's in the bathroom. No one's home. His parents went out with his younger sisters for dinner, he didn't feel up to it, his mother kissed his head as she said goodbye.

He fills up the bathtub. He doesn't want to make a mess. His father hates it when the bathroom is messy, the water is hot, too hot, he doesn't want to steam the bathroom, he'll wreck the wallpaper.

He takes off his hoodie and hangs it on the sink. His sister loves it. She wanted to wear it to her first day of school so she could look like her big brother. Even hopes she is nothing like him. He takes off his socks, and balls them up, shoving them into the pocket of the hoodie. He turns off the water now. It's quiet full, he hopes it doesn't overflow.

Even stares into the mirror, he has to bend slightly, to get his whole head into its frame. He traces the bags under his eyes, the skin is soft. A small smear of blood appears. He looks down at his hands, he hadn't even realised he had picked them so badly. He can feel their sting now, it makes him shiver. He looks back up at the mirror, his hair is a mess and tossed about his head. With shaky fingers, he pulls at the mirror, revealing the medicine cabinet hidden behind it.

His father's razor sits there on the third shelf. It's dark blue and cheap. He hated the electric razor that Even favoured. May be they'd throw it out when it was done. He grabs it, his father has a whole packet so he doesn't feel so guilty about thwacking it against the edge of the sink again, and again, and again until it finally cracks.

He pulls the pieces apart with shaky fingers, the sharp plastic digging into the tips of his fingers. The silver razor blade falls and slides in the sink. He grabs it, nearly cutting his finger tips.

Even turns and puts the razor on the windowsill just above the bathtub.

He tests the water, it cooler now, but not uncomfortable. Even slides a leg in, balanced with shaky, weak arms. The water soaks his jeans, making him feel heavy and weighted. His shirt sticks to him when it first touches the water. Beneath the water, it flutters, caressing his skin.

Even is terrified. His chest is still tight, as he reaches for the blade and settles in the water.

He hesitates, the blade hovering over his skin like a promised kiss. It occurs to him that he doesn't really know what to do. Should he go across or down? Veins go down his arm, so that seemed the most prudent choice.

It hurts. It hurts so badly, Even is gasping and rocking with the pain. It doesn't stop when he lifts the blade, it's stinging and radiating from his arm like a burn. His fingers barely want to listen to him, already feeling tingly as he grasps the blade and presses it to his other arm.

He let's out a shout. It doesn't hurt any less.

Even tries to put the blade on the edge of the tub, but his fingers rebel against him and it slides down into the water. His arms follow it, and he rests his head back against the wall.

He feels tired, for the first time in…in…Even doesn't remember. He closes his eyes, drifting on the edge of sleep, he thinks. A small part of him hears the front door click, the patter of small feet and giggles. He smiles slightly.

"Even? We're home! The girls got you ice cream!" Its his mother.

Even tries to move, to tell her, he hisses in stead. His arms hurt and he can't remember why. His eyes are closed, he can't bring himself to open them. He can hear dripping.

"Even?"

He so tired.

Even takes a deep breathe and then thinks nothing at all.

"Even? Are you in the bathroom?" There's a pause. "It’s a bit late to be having a bath, honey. Are you alright? Even?"

She knocks on the door. Even must have heard her, the shower isn't going. She sighs and opens the door.

She screams, rushing forward. Her insides have turned to stone, tossing in an ocean. Her baby is in the bathtub, her baby is bleeding, her baby is dying.

"Lars! Call 113! Now!" She screaming, pulling Even into her arms.

"Oh god, Nina. Even!" Lars rocks back in the doorway.

"113!" Nina screams again, holding Even's arm above his head, out of the water. Lars runs, grabbing his daughters appearing at the top of the staircase.

Once he hangs up the phone, he barks at the girls to stay at the front door and runs back up the stairs. His heart is pounding in his chest. Nina has managed to pull him out of the tub. Even's head is on her lap, blood dripping down onto his face from the long brutal cuts in his arms. Lars sees his razor, broken, on floor near his son's legs.

He kneels, taking one of Even's arms. Nina is shaking and crying. He can feel tears run down his cheeks.

"Its alright, baby." She whispers, like she had when he cried for hours when they first brought him home.

"We're here. It's okay. You're gonna be okay." He hears himself, but the words don't really register.

The rest of the night is a blur. Even is carried off by paramedics. Nina is wrapped in a bright red blanket. Lars has an arm around each of his daughters. They keep asking what happened; Did Even fall over in the shower? Is Even sick?. He doesn't reply. Their grandmother comes and takes them for a sleepover.

Even is laying on stark white sheets, with bandages up to his elbows. The blood has been cleaned off him and now he seems too pale.

Lars curls up on the chair next to the bed, he rests his feet on the edge of the bed and hugs his knees. Nina dodges wires, and tubes, and curls up next to her son and strokes the hair from his eyes.

They don't sleep.


	2. Lego Blocks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know I said it was going to be 'lighter' and like...it will...a majority of it will be, just you know...not yet.

_"The acknowledgment of having suffered evil is the greatest step forward in mental health."  - Stefan Molyneux_

 

* * *

 

 

He hadn't seen his little sisters in two weeks now. They had been staying at his grandmother's.

 

'Just till everything gets sorted out,' his mother had said, cupping his cheek as she smiled at him. That was a week ago and the last time Even had spoken. He hadn't really moved since then either, curled up on his side in his bed, idly stroking the bandages around his wrists. His room was a mess, the drawings on the walls in disarray; rearranged in different patterns, some littering the floor. Some of his clothes were gone too, his mother said he had donated them a few weeks before, he could only vaguely remember doing it. His mother looked terrified when he said it so he didn't bother asking where his guitar had gone too. Nas echoed softly through the room on speakers he didn't remember buying.  Even wasn't really alarmed by it, he'd forget what he had done or bought sometimes; he figured he was just really forgetful, that it was just who he was. He regretted saying as much to his parents; they looked at him like they'd never seen him before.

 

All the pieces clicking together in their heads like warped Lego blocks; the finished product, a chaotic 3D masterpiece showcasing exactly how fucked up their son was.

 

Even turned his head and bit the pillowcase. He clenched his jaw, biting down till his teeth hurt, holding it till his jaw ached and screamed at him. When he let go he sunk back into the pillow, pulling the blankets up around his nose, feeling more relaxed than he had in hours.

 

Sunlight drifted in from behind his curtains, dust dancing in the rays. Even watched, following one till it disappeared into the shadows. He couldn't stop himself from glancing at his phone again, it was fully charged, but it stayed dark.

 

Everyone knew what he'd done, from the posts on Facebook to…to the hospital. Mikael's mom was a nurse. She had seen him briefly, and he knew she'd told Mikael. Why wouldn't she? They were friends. They were supposed to be friends. He had also gotten a phone call from the principal wishing him a speedy recovery. The whole school knew, he was sure of it.

 

No one had messaged him yet.

 

Even guessed that they all thought of him the same way his parents do. He only wished he realized sooner how much people disliked him, thought him strange, annoying, crazy. It could be excused then; it was just how he was, quirky, weird, excitable, flighty. Now, it had a name. Now, they were all justified in thinking badly of him because he was dangerous, a psycho.

 

His parents had argued about his friends a few nights ago, they didn't approve of the apparent radio silence. They didn't approve of how no one had visited him in the hospital. They didn’t approve of how he had gone from being everyone's friend to no ones. His father had even called it bullying. Even had smiled for the first time at ages at that; how could you bully a psychopath? It was only natural to distance yourself, to save yourself before they hurt you.

 

Even took a deep breath, trying to ignore the clenching of his stomach and tightness in his chest. He groaned at sat up abruptly, forcing himself out of the bed and stumbling to the bathroom. He collapsed in front of the toilet, bowing over the bowl, gagging. Bile and the little water he had managed, burned his throat anew coming up. He'd been throwing up routinely for days; a side effect of finding medicine to make him normal. He sobbing into the bowl, curling an arm around his aching, burning stomach.

 

"It's alright, sweetie. I've got you." his mother whispered, rubbing his back and hair. He could only groan weakly in response before his ducking his head back over the bowl.

 

"I've already made the appointment with the doctor for this afternoon. She'll find something better, alright?" She handed him a glass of water as she spoke. Even took weak sips to soothe his throat, the taste didn't matter, he hadn't been able to taste anything in weeks. When it seemed his stomach had calmed, he stood shakily. Pushing his mother away with weak, jerky arms and heading back to bed. He ignored the hurt look on her face, he didn't care. He couldn't forgive her yet.

 

His arms and legs were shaking as he climbed up into bed, he was so tired. His limbs ached, and he still couldn't bare to eat even though he knew he should. He knew his mother would try to bring him food soon anyway. When he had returned to his curled up posting, he reached for his phone. The light nearly blinded him, and at first, he thought he must be seeing things; reading it wrong and that he wasn't looking at a message but instead a weather notification or something. He clicked the phone off and on and the notification was gone. He shakily unlocked the phone and looked at his message.

 

**Fra Sonja:**

_Hi Even, it's Sonja. I'm not sure if you still have my number but I just wanted to make sure you are okay. I heard about what happened. I just wanted to let you know that everyone misses you, and that media isn't the same without your film ideas. Hope to see you back soon. Hugs xx_

 

Even's hand shook around the phone, his vision blurring around the edges. He threw the phone done and rolled onto his back, pressing his palms into his eyes in a desperate attempt to stop the tears. He was sick of crying.

 

He and Sonja were friends, at least, he always thought they were. They spoke often, in school and at parties, they found themselves out even if they never went out of their way to hang out with each other anymore. They had dated for nearly a year and a half. He had been enchanted with her the moment they had met on the third day of their first year and he'd rather pathetically begged her to go out with him. He'd apparently done something right since she had said yes.

 

But Sonja was much more controlled and planned that he was. It wasn't that she disliked spontaneity or wasn't fun. She was just…organised. It was why they had broken up, though they lo- liked each other, they often frustrated each other. Too different, and too young to make it work regardless.

 

Yet, Sonja, of all his friends was the one to message him. Not those he had known since long before Bakka. Not Mikael, not Elias, not Mutasim, and not Adam. Not even the newcomer to their group, Yousef. He cared about Sonja but it hurt. She should've been the last person to contact him, regardless of how friendly they were.

 

Even didn’t realize he had been sobbing till he felt his father's hands in his hair and gently shushing him. He curled on his side again, wrapping the blanket around himself tighter, till it cut into him. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that everyone hated him. He couldn't even apologize or try to make it up to them. He was just the villain of the story now.

 

"Go away!" he screamed, another sob rattling his chest. Regret and guilt already curling in his chest at his father's quiet, resigned  "alright, alright" as he backed away and out of the room.

 

He hated everyone treated him differently when really, he didn't feel any different. He was the same as he always was. They were the ones that had changed.

 

His sobs slowly died down, though his chest continued to ache with the force of them. Even looked back up at the curtains and noticed that the light had shifted, and he could no longer see the dust dance among it now. The shadows were slowly swallowing even that small piece of happiness. The happiness of fucking dust.

 

"Even?" his mother called sometime later, "It's time for the appointment." She peaked up over the bed and smiled gently at him.

 

"You don't even have to get dressed, sweetheart. Doctor Kane will understand." She rubbed his back for a moment before turning and looking for his shoes. Even crawled out of bed, not making a sound as he got to the floor. His expression hadn't changed at her words, though his mother kept talking idly to fill the silence. What they would have dinner, that they'd have to clean this room, and on and on about things that Even didn't give a fuck about. He grabbed the shoes out of her hands, ignoring her jump in surprise, and jammed them on his feet.

 

"Don't you want socks, darl-"

 

"I don't give a fuck. Let's just fucking go." Even interrupted, emotionless, not even look back as he headed for the door and to the car. Before the accident, he never would've dreamed of saying such a thing to his mother. But he couldn't forgive her yet. Not when she continued this charade.

 

The ride to the hospital was full of his mother pretending nothing was wrong. She turned up the radio loud and sung and bopped around to cheesy pop music. Before, Even would have joined her, singing along obnoxiously to Gabrielle and Katy Perry, gaining them both looks from other drivers at the stoplights. Now, Even stared out the window, chin rested in his palm and didn't look at her once.

 

His mother was more subdued as they walked into the hospital. The clean, bleached smell filling Even's nose and making him queasy again. He desperately didn't want to throw up here, knowing these people, they'd use it as an excuse to lock him up.

 

Doctor Kane's officer was plain and boring, it intimidated his mother; so used to the cheery plastic duck covered officer of their family doctor. Even craved the blank normality of it all. Doctor Kane briefly smiled as they came in and gestured for them to sit before letting her fingers dance across the keyboard again. A minute or two passed; his mother fidgeting, and Even staring at the doctor's hands. She finally turned to them.

 

"Sorry about that, I'm always behind of updating files and things." She grinned and scooted her chair closer. "Now, your mother said on the phone that there have been some side effects from the medications, Even. Can you tell me about them?" Doctor Kane was the only doctor so far to actually address him, instead of treating him like he's brain dead. He wants to be difficult, but he genuinely likes Doctor Kane.

 

"I've been throwing up…often," he said, his voice hoarse and unsure, "and I've been sore. In my arms…legs."

 

Doctor Kane nodded, her curls bouncing about her head. She grabbed a file, and Even was a bit entranced about the contrast of it to her dark brown skin.

 

"And how about mentally? Emotionally? How have they been affecting you? Have you noticed?" she asked, she didn't stare him in the eye like the doctor he'd had for…his wrists. Even swallowed and rubbed his wristed, eyes wondering to the posters behind her.

 

"It's hard to concentrate sometimes, but other times, I focus too much. I don't understand my own thoughts, they don't make sense," Even could feel it begin to spill out of him and he wasn't sure it would stop, "I keep thinking about stupid things like dust and your hands and Sonja. I'm angry but too exhausted to be angry so my body acts sad but I'm not."

 

His throat was already beginning to hurt again as Even turned his gaze down towards the fraying gauze on his wrists.

 

"I shake all the time. Inside and outside. I keep crying and I don't know how to stop. I hate you, I hate mom, I hate dad, I hate my friends, I hate that I'm still here."

 

He was shaking badly now, and he could hear his mother say something but he couldn't take it in. His vision was blurring again, he was so fucking sick of tears.

 

"I hate that you're all telling me something is fucking wrong when I don't feel any different to how I've always felt! I hate you're all telling me how I should feel. Fuck the lot of you! Just because you have a name for whatever special kind of fucked up I am, doesn’t mean you get to treat me like this. I'm still the fucking same. I didn't drown in the bathtub and come out someone new and fucked up-" Even was shouting, his words cracking with his sore throat and choked sobbed. He buried his head between his legs and just let himself sob. He couldn't care anymore. He wasn't sure he was even capable.

 

"It's not fair that everyone hates me for being me," he whispered, choked and strained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the support so far! Seeing all the little kudos and bookmarks is amazing! I was expecting all 0's honestly.


End file.
